


Until Next Time?

by aflyingquill



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Age Difference, F/M, Infidelity, Kitchen Sex, Masturbation, Older Woman/Younger Man, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Post-Hogwarts, Shameless Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-14
Updated: 2021-03-14
Packaged: 2021-03-21 21:07:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,230
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30027846
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aflyingquill/pseuds/aflyingquill
Summary: Not knowing when the next time could possibly be, they must make the most of the meager hour they've managed to steal for themselves.
Relationships: Harry Potter/Molly Weasley
Comments: 3
Kudos: 27





	Until Next Time?

“I need you,” Molly gasped, grinding into the hardness digging into her back, and pressing down upon the nimble fingers buried inside her. “I need you inside me. Now.”

They hadn’t done this very often, though it wasn’t for a lack of wanting. Heaven knows how often she thought about this…  _ them _ . Rarely did a day pass when she did not think of what he felt like between her thighs, of what his capable, strong hands could do to her body, of how beautiful he looked when he came undone deep within her. But the opportunities for them to act were far and few, and Molly could do little but be patient until the next time, and thankful that their dirty little secret had not yet been discovered by anyone.

His hand tightened on the side of her breasts, fingers digging into the flesh. She grasped it in her own and dragged it to cover her breast. She heard him suck in a breath behind her, knew he could feel the hard nipple pressed against his palm. 

“Touch them, dear,” she said quietly, “go on.”

He did as she said, cupping her voluptuous breast and squeezing them, pinching her nipples into hard nubs, and leaving her breathless and gushing on his hand.

She thought she ought to be more horrified, embarrassed, ashamed of having her youngest son’s best friend touching her so intimately, but she could muster no more shame now than she had the first time they’d come together. 

It all started in the middle of summer, right before Harry’s sixth year. One foolish mistake on her part, coupled with his capacity for being in the wrong place at the right moment, meant they’d embarked on this heady, risky journey before either could think better of it.

“God, I want you so bad,” Harry moaned against her ear, interrupting her reminiscence, and there was no hint in his voice of the sixteen-year-old boy that had once stumbled upon her when she was in a rather compromised state. “I want to feel you clenching around my cock. Want to fuck you so hard you won’t be able to sit down for dinner with your family.”

Molly swore. 

“Oh, you like that, do you?” he teased her, knowing full well how his words were affecting her. “Bet that’s exactly what you want, isn’t it? To have me fill you, to fuck you until you’re sore? You want me to fill you up, don’t you? So you can feel me inside you while you sit down for dinner with your husband, Ginny, and Ron. Is that right?”

Molly only moaned in response, fingers tightening their hold on the kitchen counter. It felt so good to have his skin pressed against hers again, after all those weeks without him. Doing this with him had always been blissful, so risky, but so rewarding at the same time. What they did now was such a far cry from the first time they’d engaged in anything similar. 

And oh, how she still remembers that day.

The year was 1996, and it was the first time since Harry had arrived at the Burrow that the house lay utterly quiet. Mr. Weasley, Bill, and Fleur had all gone to work; Fred and George weren’t living at the Burrow anymore since they had their own shop to run. Ron and Ginny were playing chess down in the living room, and Hermione was asleep, seeing as she’d come down with the flu. 

For her part, Molly had assumed she would have at least an hour or two of blissful peace. It was difficult to satisfy her needs in a house that was teeming with children, and Molly had long since learned to take her chances when she saw them. 

With the door firmly shut, the curtains drawn, and a pair of her husband’s used underwear beside her, Molly wasted no time in reaching down and stroking herself. 

Molly sighed. It had been the first time in weeks that she had had some time to herself. Once Ron and Ginny both started Hogwarts, she had become used to the freedom that came with an empty house. She could roam the house without her knickers, could forego wearing bras under her dresses, and could even have sex wherever and whenever her heart desired. It was a freedom she hadn’t known since Bill was born. 

A dull throbbing was building deep within her, and she could feel her chest beginning to heave, the telltale heat blossoming on her skin. Molly leaned back into her bed, and, with a small sigh, peeled off her sodden knickers. 

She bit her lip, eyes falling shut as her cold fingers came into contact with the rich, sticky warmth of her center. Dipping her fingers within her once, twice, she’d retreated them in favor of circling the nub at the top of her throbbing, swollen sex. 

A moan had slipped past her lips, the pressure building between her thighs. Her other hand, the one not between her thighs and covered in slick, reached up to undo the buttons on her blouse. Her breasts spilled out, and the dusky nipples hardened almost instantaneously as the wintery air caressed them. Molly cupped one of her breasts and squeezed, moaning at the sensation. 

_ Fuck _ , she had thought, still biting hard on her lips. She imagined it was Arthur biting her lips, kissing her. His fingers touching her most intimate region. His breath fanning her as he panted above her, his cock slamming in and out of her wet channel. 

Molly hadn’t been aware of it, but her moans had gotten louder. The thought of Arthur moving inside her, slamming into her, whispering dirty nothings in her ear left her wanting more. She slipped two fingers inside her and thrust them in and out. With her other hand, she groped for the pair of dirty underwear she’d scavenged from their laundry basket and inhaled. The musky, salty scent made her wetter, and she plunged three fingers inside herself.

That was when she heard it, a gasp. 

Whipping her head around, Molly caught sight of the figure frozen on her doorstep. 

_ Harry _ .

Later, years later, she would learn that Harry had been searching for her to return a few pairs of socks that he’d found in his laundry pile. They weren’t his, and nor were they Ron’s. Neither supported Puddlemere United. That she was nowhere to be found. That he had searched the kitchen, the pantry, the laundry room, broom cupboard, Mr. Weasley’s shed, and even Percy’s room, where she often used to sneak into during the night to cry when Percy hadn’t been talking to any of them. That it so happened that Harry had searched the entire house until, while he was on his way back up to Ron’s room to discard the pile of socks, when an odd, keening noise reached his ears on the second floor. Curious as he had been then, and still was today, he’d followed the noise to a room and peered inside. 

And there she had been, Mrs. Weasley. He’d found her alright, but not how he’d imagined. Never, I’m all his days, had he thought he’d see  _ this _ :

Mrs. Weasley, spread on the bed, her skirt hiked up to her stomach, her knickers pooled around her ankles. One of her hands rested between her thighs, moving back and forth, the noise creating the oddest - and most delightful - wet sounds. Her chest was beginning to heave, redness blossoming on her skin. 

She bit her lip, and Harry, hardly aware of his own actions, had mirrored her. He could feel his jeans tightening as his cock stirred. Within seconds, it had gone as hard as it ever was, painful and aching. 

Another moan slipped past her lips, her thick thighs shaking in the most alluring manner. She could only imagine the sight she’d made. Her other hand, the one not between her thighs and covered in slick, reached up to cup one of her breasts and squeezed, moaning at the sensation. 

He had not been able to help himself; the moan had slipped past his lips before he could stop himself, the sight of her breasts being too arousing. 

At the sound, however, Molly’s eyes had finally snapped open, and she turned her head towards the door. Her eyes locked on his, and she stilled. They both seemed rooted to their spots. Unable to move, unwilling to speak, it seemed. 

Molly vaguely remembered her gaze moving from his eyes and glancing down. He must have seen her eyes widening, for he quickly followed her gaze down to find his palm pressed against his erection, pressing down to provide some relief to his aching member. 

He didn’t even remember reaching over to touch himself.

Harry had looked back up and saw her watching him. His mouth opened, an apology no doubt already on his lips, when Molly did something that had shocked him into oblivion. 

Her hands, which had been so still thus far, began moving again slowly. Her fingers resumed their motion of pinching her large nipple, the other hand thrusting in and out of her audibly sopping, wet sex. 

Harry swallowed hard, but Molly’s gaze did not leave him. She continued sliding her fingers in and out of her, her legs quivering, her mouth open. His hand found its way to the lump in his pants, rubbing it furiously as he watched her bring herself off. All too soon, her back was arching off the bed, pleasure coursing through her veins.

“Oh, Harry dear,” Molly had sighed so quietly he’d barely caught the words, “I… I’m so sor- ah, ah!”

She’d slapped a hand to her mouth and let her head fall back onto her pillows. Her body began convulsing, twitching. She had reached her climax. 

She did not open her eyes again, and Harry had understood it to be the missive that it was. And when he’d seen her at dinner later that night, they were both careful to avoid each other’s gaze.

It had been seven years since that day. Now, there was no need to pretend they didn’t crave this as much as the other. 

Molly glanced over her shoulder and caught Harry’s piercing green gaze. 

Without another word, she undid her skirt and let it fall to the ground, exposing her backside to his gaze. Then she reached for her panties and pulled down the flimsy, wet piece of cloth. It dropped to her ankles with a soft  _ flump _ , and she pushed it aside, along with her skirt.

Turning back around, she braced both hands on the counter and arched her back slightly. 

Harry got the message. His hands touched her backside, rubbing and stroking, and she could feel herself getting even wetter.

“Go on then,” she urged him.

He grinned. “With what?”

His erection was still grinding into her, hard and hot.

She moaned. “Harry…”

“Yes, Mrs. Weasley?”

“Please…”

“‘Please’ what?”

She had been taken aback to discover he liked to tease in bed, to make her beg for what she wanted. But it also thrilled her to know he wanted to hear her, for her to ask and command and be vocal about her pleasure. 

She moved against him, drawing out a deep, guttural groan from him. “I need you inside me, Harry. I need you to fuck me, and now.”

“There’s the silver lining,” he muttered, his fingers falling away from her dripping center.

He placed a hand on each side of her thighs and rubbed. She got the hint and spread her legs wider, bending low on the kitchen counter to expose herself even further to his hungry gaze. Harry moaned loudly at the sight of her glistening sex. She could smell herself, the heady, musky scent mingling with the scent of their sweaty bodies. It only made her wetter.

Anticipating his cock, she gasped in surprise when something soft and wet ran along her slit instead. She turned and saw Harry on his knees, mouth buried between her thighs. 

“Oh,” she moaned as he ran his tongue up and down her slit, tasting her. She reached behind her and grasped fistfuls of his hair. 

He sucked her nub once, eliciting a moan from Molly, then retreated. He bit her left arsecheek as he stood up again. 

“I could taste you forever,” he panted against her skin, “you taste so fucking good, Mrs. Weasley.”

“Harry, please,” she whined, “please just get inside me. I need - I need you now.”

He groaned his approval and, in one fluid motion, sheathed himself inside her, burying himself to the hilt. 

They both let out loud moans. 

He slowly slid in and out of her. Molly sighed in relief. She felt so full, so stretched around his beautiful, young, thick cock as it rubbed inside her, filled her up.

“Fuck,” muttered Harry, “you’re so tight. So wet. I…”

“Yes,” she nodded, her heart beating faster against her ribcage, “You feel so good in me, dear. So hard and perfect.”

With another moan, Harry began thrusting into her rapidly, setting a bruising pace that left Molly gasping for air, his hips snapping against hers in a crude melody that echoed around the deserted, silent kitchen. 

Harry bit down on her neck and drove in harder, pounding her in earnest. She knew he could feel her slick dripping down his cock and coating his own thighs. 

“You like that, do you?” He rumbled, “Like me fucking you while your husband’s away?”

“Yes! Oh, Gods, yes…”

His warm, war-roughened hands caught her jaw. He slid two fingers into her awaiting mouth, and Molly sucked, hard.

“Gods, Mrs. Weasley,” he panted, still thrusting into her roughly, “You’re so perfect… so good. I can’t stop thinking about this, about how you feel stretched around my cock, so wet and warm.” He reached up and pinched a nipple, and Molly keened. “Do you think of this too? Do you think of me filling you up when you touch yourself?”

“Oh, Harry,” she sighed, pushing back to meet his thrusts. “I think about this constantly. When I’m touching, ah, myself, when I’m in the shower - oh! Right there, dear. E-even when I’m in bed, lying next to Arthur, all I can think of is how good your cock - ah - feels in me. How you, ooh, fuck me so good. So good…”

“Fuck, I can’t believe how lucky I am sometimes,,” panted Harry, digging his fingers into her fleshy hips and pulling her roughly against his cock. He licked a stripe up her neck, tasting salt and skin. Molly whined in response, the sound shooting straight to his cock. He could feel his balls tightening as he continued sliding in and out of her, her slick covering him, dripping down to cover his balls as well. “You’re so fucking wet, fuck!”

“Just for you,” Molly moaned, “all for you, my dear.”

Harry bent over her as he continued thrusting, his back pressed tight against hers. His balls slapped against her sopping slit; Molly moaned lewdly in time with each thrust, arching her back and pushing back against him to take him in deeper.

“Fuck, Mrs. Weasley. Fuck, fuck, fuck.” Harry reached down and ran his fingers over her slit. He could feel himself there, hard and smooth, moving up and down, sliding and caressing her sopping center, and he let out a hiss. His fingers moved up and searched for the round nub that was sure to heighten Mrs. Weasley’s pleasure.

Molly let out a small shriek when he pressed down upon her clit. 

“Yes, my boy. Oh, Harry dear,” she rambled, barely conscious of the words spilling from her mouth, “Don’t stop. Please, love, don’t stop.”

“Ah, fuck. Fuck, Mrs. Weasley, you feel so good around my cock,” he moaned. “Are you going to come? Are you going to finish on my cock?”

“Oh, Merlin, yes! Don’t stop, Harry dear. Don’t stop. I’m close, so close.”

“Mrs. Weasley,” he panted, voice hoarse and deep, “I’ve waited so long for this.”

“So have I, my dear,” she keened, “so have I.”

“I want to fuck you every damn day, you know?” He shifted slightly so that his cock slid in even deeper, and Molly dropped her forehead onto the cool kitchen counter. “I want you on my cock when I wake up, and when I go to bed. I want to fuck you in your bed and in the garden. You’d like that, wouldn’t you? Fucking in the garden where anyone could see us?”

Molly shuddered in his arms, tears gathering at the corner of her eyes as the pressure inside her intensified, his actions and words affecting her equally. She imagined the sight they made: naked and flushed, rutting against one another. Her large breasts swinging from the force of his thrusts, sweat curling down their skin. The musky, tangy scent of sex was heady in the air, as were the wet sounds of their skin slapping together with practiced ease.

“Yes, you’d like that,” Harry continued, his words now punctuated by short intakes of air as his thrusts faltered, “Naked on the cold, hard ground, with me pounding into you. Your son’s best friend giving you his cock while you’re writhing on the ground. That’s what you want isn’t it?”

She moaned loudly in response, clenching her inner muscles around his stiff member. Harry let out a string of curses at the action.

His hips began stuttering, his rhythm faltering as his thrusts grew shaky and uncoordinated. She knew he was nearing his finish. She reached up and began pinching her nipples, twisting and pulling them into hard nubs, kneading her fleshy mounds. 

Harry, noticing this, began rubbing harder circles on her clit. 

Molly let out a shriek as pain and pleasure coursed through her. It was too much, too many sensations.

“I’m going to cum,” he panted against her back, one hand digging so hard into her hips, she was sure he’d leave marks. “Are you…”

“I’m close, dear,” she gasped, tilting her hips back to meet his thrusts. “Just a bit longer. Fuck me just a little more.”

A handful of thrusts later, Molly shook as she came around his cock. Harry kept rubbing her clit, thrusting into her as she rode out her orgasm. Slick gushed through her, and she could feel it sliding down her thighs now.

“Fuck!” Harry roared in her ear as he shuddered violently behind her, coming deep inside her. 

They were both panting, breathless, and exhausted. He slumped against her back; she pressed her face into the cool kitchen counter. One of his hands was rubbing circles on her belly, the other cupping a heavy breast. She could feel him shrinking inside her, but still, they remained connected, joined in the most intimate way possible.

She knew he had to leave soon, return to his own home. With a surge of guilt, she wondered what Ginny would say if she knew what her husband and mother had been doing that afternoon. But when he smiled at her, bashful but rakish at the same time, slipped a finger between her folds to caress her, and leaned down to whisper, “Until next time?” against her lips, Molly could do nothing but keen into his mouth and thrust down upon his fingers.

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry for any grammar mistakes - I proofread this once but . . . anyways. leave a kudos, maybe a comment, perhaps even a prompt!!


End file.
